


mild accusations

by ienablu



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Blue Angel arrives at the edge of Afterlife, intent on rallying the Inhumans to wage war.</p><p>Jiaying serves him tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mild accusations

By now, Jiaying can feel the shift of air when Gordon moves, before blue lightning fully announces his arrival. She does not look up from the journal entry she is writing. "Good afternoon, Gordon.”

"There's someone at the edge of Afterlife."

Her hand stills. She looks up. "Oh?" she says. Despite their isolation, there have been instances of some arriving at the gates of Afterlife. Resolutions are difficult to maneuver, but Jiaying has been able to successfully navigate them. Most peacefully, though a few not.

"He’s not human.”

That narrows down the possibilities. Gordon seems to have more to say, so she prompts, “But?”

“He’s not Inhuman either. He's told the students that he wishes to speak with you."

She nods. "What do they say of him?"

"Mostly that he’s attractive,” he replies, dryly. “But no one’s had any… worrying reactions to him.”

She nods again. "Send him in. I will call you if necessary."

“Be careful, Jiaying,” he says, but he takes the dismissal.

In her now-empty office, Jiaying looks around. Over the decades, she has cultivated the perfect appearance for her office. Some of the decorations have meaning, but there is nothing that can be used against her. Nothing, but… She pulls her chair back, pulls the rug back, and pries the loose floorboard up. The journal is wrapped in linen and stowed away, and everything is put back in its place.

Satisfied, she crosses the room and starts the motions of making tea. It's only polite when entertaining guests. She fills the electric kettle and flicks it on. At this altitude, it will take some time to boil. Despite her preference for traditional tea leaves, she pulls out a selection of tea bags, just in case. She sets two matching mugs next to them. 

The water begins to gurgle, and she returns to her desk. She sits down, she smoothes her blouse – dark blue, high-collared, patterned with tree branches – and she waits.

The doors open a minute later, and a young man strides into her office. Young is relative with Jiaying, but he looks as though he may be in his early thirties. Dark brown hair, deep blue eyes, pale skin. He stops at the same spot Gordon had recently appeared. There is no lightning announcing him, but the air feels charged with a similar potential.

Jiaying feels a deep, instinctual shiver of _something_ at the sight of him. Fear and awe, anticipation and gratitude. 

He stares at her expectantly.

Jiaying is well-practiced in the art of not reacting. "Hello," she greets.

He nods his head in greeting.

"Would you care to sit down?" she asks, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk.

He strides to stand behind the chair, but makes no movement to sit. In a low timbre, he asks, “Do you know who I am?"

Jiaying shakes her head, careful not to break his gaze. "I cannot say that I do. What brings you to Afterlife?"

He does not speak. He does not move. It is disconcerting, as there is something that is subtly changing. In a few seconds, it becomes apparent. His lips tinge black. His skin slides into a deep blue. His eyes burn an inhuman blue.

Jiaying has heard of the Blue Angels. For those of a certain age, everyone has. Fables, myths, cautionary tales. Spoken in whispers, a tremble of fear in the voice.

Hidden under her desk, Jiaying’s hands tremble in her lap.

"My name is Ronan," he says, his voice taking on a deep rumble. It matches the hum of the itch in her palms. 

"Hello, Ronan," Jiaying says.

"Do you know who I am now?"

"I know you are Kree."

"And I know you are one of our Inhumans."

Anger flashes through her. The Inhumans do not belong to the Kree now, if they ever belonged to them in the first place. But there will be time for her to argue such soon – for now, better to let him air his fanaticism.

"I have come to finally claim what is ours… the Kree have kowtowed, bowed down to the Nova Prime. It is an insult, and I mean to wage war. After all this time, it is time for you to join us in battle."

Jiaying is fully aware of which of her students are battle-ready, and which are not. The numbers are heavily skewed towards the latter. Such is preferable for a sanctuary, though there is an itch of regret that matches her palms. "I am remiss to inform you of this," Jiaying tells him, "but that is not going to happen."

Ronan takes a step in closer. "You are in no place to deny me what is–” 

The tea kettle’s high-pitched shrill cuts through his voice.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?" she asks him, completely disregarding his claim.

He stares at her, eyes narrowing.

Jiaying stands and makes her way back to the kettle, and pours two cups of water. She would prefer to prepare the tea traditionally, but does not desire to have her back to Ronan any longer than necessary. The two teabags plop into the water. The mugs are uncomfortably warm when she picks them up, but the heat of the ceramic is nothing against the heat of Ronan’s glare. She returns to her desk, sets down both seeping teas, and does not sit. "I do not imagine you are familiar with Terran teas, but I find there are very few that do not enjoy chamomile. It is one my own favorites."

"From what our scouts have said, you are the most powerful of our Inhumans. For that, I am allowing you some leniency. There are no others in the galaxy that would treat me as you do."

"That is hardly my concern," Jiaying tells him, careful to keep her voice cool and neutral. He does not need to know the effect his words – _no others in the galaxy_ – have on her. 

"You will come with me," Ronan says, expression growing darker. "And together, the Kree will be even mightier than before, and we will defeat the Nova Corps."

"I have no intentions of starting a war," Jiaying says.

"The Nova Corps were the ones who started it. The Kree are only doing their part in rising to the challenge."

"Your war is not mine," Jiaying tells him. She reaches down for her cup, blows across the surface, and takes a long sip of her tea. He does not follow her lead, does not allow for a few moments of pleasantries, so she sets her cup back down. "I'm sorry that you made this trip for nothing. I cannot imagine how far you had to travel to see me, but you will be leaving now."

He throws his head back and laughs. 

The ground beneath them trembles. 

The wooden frame of the building shakes. 

The teacups rattle on her desk. 

Jiaying has long overcome her fear of the thunder.

Ronan shoves the chair aside, and it goes flying across the room. “You think you can defy me?” he bellows. 

She moves around her desk to meet his advance. “I must ask you to leave now.”

“You _fool_. While you make requests, I, Ronan the Accuser, give orders. You will gather your forces and join the Kree in annihilating all who stand in our path.”

“No.”

His hand shoots out to wrap around her neck. “I grow tired of your pitiful defiance,” he growls.

Jiaying is wearing a high-collar. She stares up at Ronan. “Let go of me.”

“You have no place to order–”

Jiaying sets her hand on his.

“–me… to…” 

He stares down at her. It seems he is having difficulty focusing his vision.

Jiaying removes her hand from his so to place her hand on his cheek. Then she raises up her other hand, so she is cradling his face in her hands, his skin flush against her palms.

He opens his mouth, but he cannot make any words.

Jiaying has taken the lives of many before. She keeps count in the back of her journal, and tries not to let the number haunt her. Not to dwell on what once was. It broke her a little more each time, feeling the life drain from them, watching their color fade until gray expressions were staring up at her.

Now, Ronan’s power courses through her like lightning and she wonders what color a Kree will turn.

Seconds pass. The blue is fading and fading, tinging an ashen white.

His eyes stay blue. 

His eyes show fear. 

“You will leave,” Jiaying says softly, as all orders are best given, “and you will not return. Is that understood?”

“…yes…” 

Jiaying releases him. 

Ronan falls to his knees before her, collapses down onto his hands. His brow touches down at her feet.

Jiaying’s eyes flutter closed as she listens to him gasp for breath, as power continues crackling through her.

Seconds pass. 

“Gordon?”

The air shifts and Gordon appears. The crackle of his arrival seems dim in comparison to the electricity thrumming through her.

“Please see him out.”

Gordon takes six silent steps to where Ronan has collapsed before Jiaying. He keeps his expression downcast from Jiaying, places his hand on Ronan’s shoulder, and then they’re gone.

Jiaying retrieves her journal, sips her tea, and continues writing.


End file.
